


We Have a Winner!

by eveningsoother (WhichWolfWins)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Carnival, Dating, Fluff, M/M, These two being adorably nerdy, When aren't my fics fluff now?, and so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4473014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/pseuds/eveningsoother
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John likes going out to eat with Mycroft, but he wants to do something different for once. In which John tries to be the ultimate date and wins Mycroft a prize at the carnival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Have a Winner!

**Author's Note:**

> Written in one sitting and not beta'd, so don't trust the quality! ;)

It was a beautiful night for dinner at a restaurant like this. With a large, clear window for a ceiling and not a cloud in sight, the stars were on stunning display, twinkling and dazzling the night away above them as he and Mycroft dined in the dimly lit establishment down below.

Despite the near silence of the people around them, much too proper to speak above a quiet susurrus, John felt at ease - they’d dined with people such as these so often at this point that he’d become used to the excessive number of eating utensils and severe lack of eye contact. 

Mycroft fit in well here, though - this was his scene. If he went anywhere with people there, he went because he would blend in. A smartly dressed business man, just another one in the crowd - perfect for him to disappear. 

John, however, felt a bit like a sore thumb in places like this, even now. These people around him, he couldn’t imagine them having seen anything like what he had seen in his life or felt nearly as much pain. But, then again, Mycroft had, so appearances weren’t quite everything. He enjoyed these dates nonetheless, because he got to spend them with Mycroft. 

Still… the atmosphere got to him sometimes. As much as he liked eating delicious food while having comfortable (though quiet) conversation with Mycroft, there were times he found himself wanting to go outside the secluded walls of every restaurant in London and show the world who Mycroft Holmes was. 

Across from him, Mycroft raised his brow and sat back from his meal, setting his fork and knife down on their napkins. 

“You’re planning something,” he said, his eyes slit with suspicion. 

A smile went quickly to John’s lips. Of course, Mycroft was right. “I would like to choose where we go on our next date,” John said, going back to his meal. He cut off a slice of the perfectly tender steak and popped it into his mouth, not at all concerned with the opinions of any of the patrons around them. Smoke and pepper burst with flavor on his tongue, followed quickly by the warm juices flooding in his mouth as he began to chew. 

Mycroft smiled despite his wariness seeing the pleasure written across John’s features and went back to his meal, as well. “And where would that be?” he asked, taking a less dramatic bite of his steak, but looking just as pleased by the quality of the meal. Considering the price, they damn well better be pleased! 

John swallowed, took a sip of water, dabbed at his lips. Seeing Mycroft’s impatience, he grinned and sat back, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a surprise.” 

“You know how I feel about surprises.” 

“Sometimes, you’ve just gotta live with them.” 

Mycroft sighed without a sound, allowing his shoulders to slump briefly in a moment of drama, then straightened, returned to his meal, and turned his speculative gaze on the seasoning peppered across his kobe beef. 

John couldn’t help his laughter and he really didn’t care about the hush that fell over the patrons as they turned to see who’d so _rudely_ disturbed the silence. 

* * *

When John got home, Sherlock harrumphed at him and didn’t even bother looking up from his microscope as he nudged his empty cup pointedly to the edge of his work top. John was in too good a mood to let it phase him and he’d been on the way to the kettle anyhow, so he poured them each a cuppa, then he made his way to the bookshelf. He perused the options in search of the thickest spine and found what he’d been searching for relocated to the middle shelf. He glanced Sherlock’s way - he hadn’t even tried to hide his nosing - then went to the sofa to crack it open. 

The photo album was a soft green felt with a dark blue sheen in some light. His mother had prided herself over the maintaining of the album, stocking it full of pictures she’d snapped of them growing up. 

The images captured them from sonogram through to prom and ended with the last picture they’d all taken with her just a week before she passed, all of them looking pale and sleepless. At the time, his mother’s wrist had been so frail, he probably could’ve touched thumb to pinky around it. 

But the reason he was looking through the album wasn’t to be reminded of one of the worst times in his life, but rather one of the happiest. As he flipped through the thick pages, his mum went from blonde to brunette and back again, short to long, to somewhere in between that she kept for most of her life. 

When he finally found the pictures he was looking for, there were barely any of her. As usual, she was the one behind the camera, in search of that perfect moment she could cherish between all the bad spots. 

These had always been John’s favourite pictures of her’s. His mother loved life. She did best when she had plenty of colour and light to work with, somehow managing to capture her subjects, the two little blond heads of her children, in all the hubbub of the crowd and keep them in her camera’s spotlight. 

John ran his finger over one of the few pictures taken by his father of the three of them, Harry, mum, and him, all tucked into the seats of a shiny red apple and it was decided. He knew where he was going to take Mycroft. 

* * *

John set the date, got himself looking smart, yet comfortable, then sat in his chair and tried to keep himself occupied while he waited impatiently for Mycroft to tell him his meeting was over. Sherlock was in a state on the sofa, face down and likely experiencing microsleeps from putting off shut eye for so long, his occasional grumble the only thing showing John he was still awake and breathing. 

John was pointedly watching a documentary on sleep while he waited, the target of Sherlock’s grumblings, though he glanced distractedly at his phone every couple minutes, nervous about how Mycroft would take the news of their destination. 

“The circus?” Sherlock said, his voice partially muffled by the sofa cushion. “Really, John?” 

John glanced at his friend, half-buried in the crack at the back of the sofa. “What? He’s gotta like it at least a little.” 

“That would be the extent of it.” 

John sighed and turned back to the telly. 

Suddenly Sherlock sat up, his eyes looking manic in their excitement.“I know something you could do that would make him happy.” 

“No.” 

“Don’t disgust me, John,” Sherlock said, shuddering dramatically. “I’m serious.” 

John turned fully around in his seat to face him. “I thought you didn’t approve of us. Your brother and me.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Then _why_ should I listen to you?” 

“I knew you’d stop being fun once you started dating him. He’s begun to rub off on you, John, in more ways than the one,” Sherlock said, grimacing once again the imagery. 

John rolled his eyes. “Alright. What is it?” 

Grinning, Sherlock’s eyes began to twinkle with mischief. 

* * *

“Hello, John,” Mycroft greeted as John met him at the car. John smiled and slid his arm around his waist as he leaned in for a kiss. 

“Ready?” 

“Not at all,” Mycroft said, looking down his nose at John. 

John snorted and stole another kiss before he slipped inside the car. Mycroft followed him in and John was quick to comfort him with a hand on his knee. 

“No matter how terrible it is, it will end eventually,” he said, grinning up at him. 

Mycroft glared at him, but covered John’s hand with his nonetheless. 

* * *

When Mycroft saw where they were going, he was hesitant to get out of the car, but John wouldn’t relent his tugging and eventually, Mycroft stepped out onto the gravel and gave chance to close the door and send the car on its way before Mycroft could dive back inside. 

“Come on, Mycroft. You never know - you might actually enjoy yourself.” 

“There’s what appears to be a donkey defecating over there,” Mycroft said, pointing at children’s horsey rides. 

John chuckled. “How is that different from anywhere else?” 

This made Mycroft crack a smile and John jiggled their clasped hands. “Come with me and I’ll show you a true dining experience.” 

* * *

The line was a long one, so much so that even John’s cheery mood was dampened just a tad, but as soon as they each had the warm, greasy paper plates in their hands, he forgot about it and led the way to a nearby wooden bench. Mycroft sank reluctantly onto the bench across from him beside a couple that were gnawing on sticky candied apples with their children getting equally sticky fingerprints all over the table. 

“I don’t want this,” Mycroft said, looking down at the funnel cake covered in a soft mountain of white sugary powder. 

“Yes, you do,” John said. He nudged Mycroft’s plate closer to him. “Eat up.” 

Mycroft frowned at the dessert, but he reached for a piece anyway, his curiosity getting the best of him, John’s delighted moan a little incentive to help him on his way. 

White powder rained down on Mycroft’s suit, covered him in what looked like a layer of snow. John giggled as Mycroft looked down at his deep purple tie and rubbed away the white spots. 

“Good?” 

The crisp funnel cake gave way to Mycroft’s teeth and the sugary coating melted away on his tongue, filling his mouth with a sense of his childhood home. Mycroft ignored the question and went for another piece, making more of a mess on his neatly pressed suit with each forkful. In no time, their treats were gone and Mycroft looked as if he’d been caught in a sudden snowstorm. 

“So, will you go on a ride with me now?” 

“John,” Mycroft said, sounding doubtful. 

“You listened to me once and you enjoyed it. Just this once and we never have to come here again.” 

Mycroft rubbed away the powdered sugar with his pocket square then looked at John. “Because I care for you.” 

John grinned and stood, wiping away the mess on his jacket. “I’ll go easy on you,” John said, taking his plate in one hand and Mycroft’s hand in the other. “Let’s go.” 

* * *

Mycroft looked up the large structure to the top where a long seat swayed back and forth with its inhabitants. John swears he saw him gulp, but he was there with a reassuring kiss to his cheek where a spot of powdered sugar still remained. 

“Three tickets,” the man at the gate said, holding out his hand filled with the little blue stubs. John handed six to the man and held firmly to Mycroft’s hand as he clambered into the sparkly green seat. 

Mycroft joined him on the hard chair and John pulled the lever down, locking them in place. Trying to get comfortable in such a small, confined space, Mycroft shifted around awkwardly, jossling John with his elbows. 

“It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.” John slipped his arms over his shoulder to allow for some room and Mycroft settled his movements a bit, forcing himself to just breathe. 

“I’m not scared, John.” 

“Of course you’re not,” he chuckled. 

The ferris wheel started up again and Mycroft’s hand found his knee in a death grip. 

“Oi!” 

Mycroft let up a bit and John took the opportunity to take Mycroft’s hand in his. 

The day had gotten cooler as it moved into night and the sky had begun to purple to dark blue as they were raised toward the clouds. Stars already scattered through the clouds, bringing night to day. 

For a moment, John was completely captivated. The sky, the cool breeze. The pressure of Mycroft at his side. For a moment, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. 

His heart leapt in his chest as the ferris wheel came to a stop, going completely still as soon as they reached the top. 

When he dragged his eyes from the sky to Mycroft, he found Mycroft looking back at him like he’d said all of this out loud. 

“You called my ‘love’ a moment ago, didn’t you?” 

John stared back at him, stunned by the look in Mycroft’s eyes. He had to blink to get his thoughts to process. “Yes. Yes, of course I did,” he said, a smile finding its way onto his lips and quickly blooming into a full on beam. “Of course. ‘Cause I love you,” John nodded, matter-of-fact. 

Mycroft’s eyes took on a curious look. It took John a moment to realize they’d become bright with the stars and the carnival lights as they began to shine. 

Mycroft’s lips parted, but for a very rare moment, he was at a loss for words. Moving without thinking, John leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mycroft’s cheekbone. When he pulled away, Mycroft’s eyes were closed and John reached for him, turned his head in his hands brushed at his lashes with his thumbs. 

“Of course,” John said, and he moved in to capture Mycroft’s parted mouth with his. 

For a beat, his heart felt still in his chest. All sound fell away but the sound of the calliope and Mycroft’s gasp as he sucked in at the collision. 

“God,” John breathed into the kiss, pressing his lips to be close rather than to actually kiss him. “You can be so...” he kissed Mycroft again and pulled away, framing Mycroft’s head with his hands, “so bloody silly sometimes. Of course I bloody love you, Mycroft Holmes.” 

“Of course,” Mycroft repeated. 

“It’s so bloody obvious,” John shrugged nonchalantly. 

Mycroft’s brows pressed together and the ferris wheel kicked back into action, spinning them around and around in a kaleidoscope of colours and sounds until all that seemed certain was the feeling of John at Mycroft’s side and the fact that, yes, John loved him and, yes, it was so bloody obvious, wasn’t it? 

* * *

It took them a moment to gain their footing once they were off. The ride had lasted longer than it probably should have and John had the deepest suspicion why - he swears he recognized the man as one of Sherlock’s street informants. Either way, it was just another reason to hold Mycroft’s hand and lead the way through the crowd of pressing bodies looking for a night of fun. 

“Now I’ve got to win your a prize or this wasn’t an official date,” John told Mycroft as he led the way to the milk bottle pyramids. 

John was certain they rigged these games, but he was determined to get Mycroft something special. 

The girl behind the booth handed John a bucket of balls and Mycroft smiled in amusement as the she expressed doubt at John’s ability to get them all down. 

John picked up one of the balls and gripped it firmly, felt the weight in his hand and zeroed in on the bottles. Licking his lips, he pulled back and sent the ball crashing through the first pyramid. 

“That was just a lucky shot, mate. Let’s see if you can get lucky twice.” 

John did. He got lucky a third time, too, and a fourth. There were six towers and they all came raining down with one well aimed shot. 

The girl grinned, pleased by the havoc John had wreaked. “Well done, mate! You’re a real straight shooter! What’ll it be, love? You’ve earned it.” 

John eyed the large stuffed animals. As amusing as he thought it would be to get the big pink elephant down for Mycroft, he was looking for something a little less pink and a little more gold. 

“I want two of those,” John said, pointing at the little baggies on the top of the booth. 

The girl furrowed her brow. “But those are one of the cheaper prizes.” 

“Not to me,” John said, giving her a wink. 

“Go on then, have at,” she said, then headed off to talk to the next paying customer. 

“Alright, which ones would you like?” John said, turning back to Mycroft. 

“You won me goldfish?” 

John nodded, looking pleased despite the apparent worth of the fish. 

Realization dawned across Mycroft’s face and he blinked at John. “You spoke to Sherlock.” 

“He spoke _at_ me,” John said. 

“And he told you to get me goldfish?” 

“He told me to get you a goldfish, but we can’t have the other one be lonely now, can we?” He gestured at the fish. “Go on then.” 

Mycroft stepped up to the booth with a look of disbelief on his face and bent down to eye each fish with a critical eye. Despite the fact that John was as unaware of the meaning behind the fish as anyone beside him and his brother, Mycroft did as he was told and made his selections. Once he had, he stepped up to John and didn’t pay any mind to anyone else as he was the one to kiss John for once. 

“Thank you, John,” Mycroft said when he pulled away to John smiling back at him, understanding of the importance of that kiss in the warmth of his eyes. “I love my goldfish.” John chuckled and led the way to the black car sitting idly waiting, pleased with a date well done. 

“I wouldn’t mind stopping in for dinner about now,” John said, holding open the door, his stomach giving a particularly loud growl. The irony didn’t escape either them as Mycroft turned to him with a smile. 

“I’m feeling a bit peckish myself.” 

John gave him a kiss and their driver directions to the nearest restaurant, which just so happened to be a favourite of theirs. Date well-done, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get this idea out of my head and finally just had to sit down and write it! I would be happy to hear what you think of it!
> 
> If you would like to follow me on tumblr, you can find me [here](eveningsoother.tumblr.com).  
> You can also follow the Johncroft blog I co-run [here](mycroftandjohn.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thank you for reading! :D


End file.
